


Decisions

by fawatson



Category: Purposes of Love - Mary Renault
Genre: Backstory, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-09 00:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1962423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life for Colonna at home with her parents before she joins nursing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decisions

**Author's Note:**

> **Originally written for:** Brigit’s Flame January 2013 (Week 3 – Just For Fun)  
>  **Originally posted to:** fawatson's personal LiveJournal on 19/01/2013 and crossposted to maryrealtfics at LiveJournal  
>  **Prompt:** Grain   
> **Additional Inspiration:** (1) ’s Yuletide 2012 request, “anything about Colonna and her bohemian life or whatever drove her to want to become a nurse.” This isn’t quite what was requested but it is what wanted to be written! (2) In chapter V of _Purposes of Love_ (p 42 of my newly acquired 1941 reprint of the 1939 edition) we are told Colonna always wore “man-tailored clothes of a cut that would have looked flamboyant on a man, but which she succeeded somehow in subduing to her personality. Her suit and suede brogues were pale grey, her shirt navy and her tie bright scarlet.” (3)Miss Woolf’s School is famous for being the school of Vita Sackville-West.   
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit by them.

“If that girl has any more sense than a butterfly, then it’s well hidden,” expostulated her father. “To turn down a proposal from Wilfred Walker is just arrant stupidity on her part.”

Colonna felt very uncomfortable behind the curtains of the sitting room. She had not intended to eavesdrop. She had been reading quietly, enjoying the last of the summer sun from the west-facing window. The maid had closed the curtains at dusk, by which time she was watching the shadows creep across the front garden. Cosy and reluctant to move she had declined to shift her seat, and gestured to the maid to close the curtains round her. Colonna had always liked the window seat: the way it had been carved so it was equally comfortable sitting with your legs up or down. There was a knot in the grain which her fingers had traced rhythmically as she watched the sunset. Bright gold and pink deepened to red, then purple; and she lost track of time until it was too late. She hadn’t meant to _hide_ exactly. She had been about to move, when her parents had entered for their pre-dinner drink. It appeared the time her father chose to chat over the day’s events. 

Discretion appeared the order of the day, unless she really _wanted_ to hear her faults discussed. Quietly, Colonna eased up the sash window and crept out. Hopefully the neighbours wouldn’t notice, or that would mean another lecture tomorrow. For now though, it allowed her to get away without being seen. She walked round to the rear of the house and went down the steps to enter the back way. 

The heat of a busy kitchen, redolent with the smell of hot fat and sage almost hit her as she went through the door. Colonna sniffed appreciatively, approaching the cook who was intent on her work. 

“Mmm... roast pork, and midweek at that. What’s the big occasion?” asked Colonna from behind and slightly to one side, “not that I’m exactly objecting. Unable to resist, she stole a bit of crackling from the carving board, and got her fingers slapped lightly. 

“Now mind your manners, Miss Colonna; there’ll be plenty on the dinner table,” chided the cook. She smiled at Colonna though. “It was supposed to be to celebrate your engagement, Miss Colonna; only you went and upset all your mother’s plans.” 

“She’s not the one would have to marry Wilfred,” Colonna made a moue of disgust, “and put up with him droning on about his work for the rest of her life.” 

“There’s worse things in life than listening to your husband, Miss Colonna; you know that. Besides I always think a man should be interested in how he earns his living.” 

“But Tommy dearest, he’s not just interested, he’s utterly _passionate_ about it! I mean I ask you,” Colonna struck an attitude, “who in his right mind would be totally riveted about manufacturing girders when he could be passionate about _me_?” 

“Get away with you, Miss Colonna” Mrs Tomkins said affectionately, “and get upstairs and tidied up for dinner, _do_ , else it will be on the table before you’re done.” 

Colonna pressed a quick kiss to the soft cheek before whisking out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her room. Nowadays, dressing for dinner actually meant no more than giving her face a quick wash, renewing her lipstick, and brushing her hair. She had memories from her childhood when it had meant a change in dress as well; as a little girl she had watched with fascination as her mother had redone her hair too. Those days were long since past, though the phrase remained. As did many of the old fashioned attitudes, she thought, preserved in her family, rather the way one put up pickles in the summer. She gave her figure a quick glance in the long mirror, checking the seams in her stockings were straight and blowing herself a kiss, before she joined the rest of the family downstairs.

After dinner her brother went out. Colonna envied him his freedom. The conversation over the meal had been stultifying, dominated as it was by a discourse about banking from father to son (who was following in his father’s footsteps, albeit still at a junior level). There was no conversation after dinner; her father thought silence improved the digestion. He read, while her mother embroidered and Mozart played on the radio. Colonna would have preferred jazz; Father didn’t. He didn’t even like Stravinsky. Colonna flicked through some fashion magazines, read a bit more of her novel, and went to bed. The day had begun quietly; it ended just the same. 

The next morning dawned fair; as usual the maid woke her with a cup of tea. Her father and brother had left by the time she had got downstairs; but Colonna joined her mother at the breakfast table. Her father’s morning newspaper rested by his chair, almost pristine. She knew he would have read it; but ever so cautiously, so it showed little sign of the pages being disturbed. Even in the smallest ways he was a careful man. However, she also knew what was coming: peace did not reign at the breakfast table, once her father had left for his offices at the bank. This was the morning after the night before – and she did not even have a hangover to remind her of her previous day’s pleasure. Colonna selected a scone, and began to butter it, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. 

“Colonna dear, I have a little bone to pick with you,” 

“Have you Mother? That’s funny; I don’t seem to have any bones in _my_ breakfast.”

“Don’t be impertinent; didn’t that school teach you any manners? I should have hoped I had earned the right to a little respect in my own home, from my own daughter.” 

Colonna sighed, “Sorry Mother.” She knew what was coming. Father had made the decisions; now it was her mother’s job to deliver them. 

“I still think you made a foolish decision not to accept Wilfred’s proposal; but that was your prerogative. However, now that you have burned your bridges _there_ , you really cannot remain _here._ None of the other young men hereabouts is going to come courting after they learn how badly he was treated.”

“Perhaps they won’t learn,” Colonna retorted. 

“Perhaps pigs will fly, but I hardly think that likely either.” Her mother’s response was tart. “He is well-connected and he’ll tell his friends. His _mother_ will tell their mothers, if nothing else. And you will quickly find the invitations to those parties you love so much no longer arrive at this house. Sadly, my dear, you have developed a reputation for being somewhat fast. Marriage to Wilfred would have repaired that; but since you are not marrying him....”

Colonna bit back hot words of protest. If her family just wasn’t so stuffy – positively mediaeval in their attitudes! 

“No, your father and I have decided you should go away.” 

“Where to?” said Colonna, “Aunt Mary’s attic?” 

“Don’t be silly, dear.” Mrs Kimball’s voice held a note of exasperation. “Why ever do you think we paid fees all those years to send you to Miss Woolf’s? I’ve been in touch with the mother of one of your old school chums.” There was a pause while Mrs Kimball waited for some signal from Colonna; but her daughter simply selected another scone from the basket and began to spread it with strawberry jam. It was Mrs Kimball’s turn to sigh; Colonna could be quite trying when she decided to be awkward. “And I’ve had a reply.”

Reluctantly Colonna’s interest was piqued. “You never thought of this just last night with Father, if you’ve had a reply already.” 

“I wrote last week.” Mrs Kimball’s tone was slightly smug. “I could see what was coming; but your father was convinced you would ‘see reason’, as he put it.” 

Colonna grimaced at this. Her father wasn’t the one who would have to talk to Wilfred, though she supposed _he_ wouldn’t mind hearing all about pig iron. 

“Which friend?” asked Colonna, curious at last about the plans her mother seemed to have made behind her back – behind even her father’s back. 

“Susan,” Mrs Kimball smiled. “I thought you’d prefer to visit someone based in London. I can’t say I much like your taste in clothes; but those trousers you have hidden in the back of your wardrobe where you thought I wouldn’t see them, would stand out a bit too much if you visited someone in the country.” 

“Oh Mother, you are a _brick!_ ” Colonna abandoned her scone and came round the table to hug her mother. “I’ve been going mad cooped up here in Rotherham since I left school!” 

“We may not see eye to eye; but I was young once. And I do want you to be happy,” said Mrs Kimball, returning the hug. “I suppose I always knew something must come of giving you such a preposterous Christian name.” 

“I always thought I was named after Great Aunt Colonna, who was expected to be grateful and leave me something in her will.” 

“Your great aunt loathed babies, and was always much more likely to leave her money to the dog rescue –” 

“which is of course what she did –” said the two of them in chorus.

“– to the everlasting chagrin of your father, who would never have agreed to such a fanciful name had he realised that when you were born.” Mrs Kimball shrugged. “We have never been short of money, regardless. Anyway, Susan’s mother is expecting you next week. That should give me plenty of time to buy you a few new dresses before you go off.” 

“Trousers, Mother,” replied Colonna, “since you don’t like the pair in my wardrobe, I’ll buy myself a smart new suit.”


End file.
